The rain began before sunrise and never once relented.
Beneath a forest of black umbrellas nearly every member of the Uchiha clan gathered on the low hill that overlooked the Naka River.
Young men who had once served beside Shisui in the Military Police stood shoulder to shoulder with retired veterans whose hair had long since turned grey.
Mothers held their children close.
Some of the smallest children cried openly because their funny uncle who always had a smile and a pocket full of sweets was no longer there to lift them into the air.
The coffin was draped in the crimson and white fan of the Uchiha clan.
There were no extravagant decorations and no displays of wealth.
Shisui had lived simply despite the great reputation that followed his name and the clan had chosen to honour that quiet wish.
At the front of the crowd stood Fugaku, Mikoto, Sasuke and Itachi.
Anyone who looked closely would notice that Itachis gaze never left the coffin.
The real emotions and memories of the original Itachi pressed against Julians heart until the two sets of feelings became difficult to separate.
Grief that belonged to another person now felt like his own.
The soft murmurs that moved through the cemetery suddenly ceased when an elderly figure approached through the rain.
Hiruzen Sarutobi walked alone.
He carried a simple bouquet of white chrysanthemums and did not wear his Hokage cloak or came with an official escort.
He had come not as the Hokage of Konoha but as an old man who wished to pay his respects to a boy he had watched grow into a remarkable man.
Many of the younger Uchiha looked at him with restrained suspicion yet none of them spoke a word of protest.
The rain continued to fall as the Third Hokage stopped in front of the coffin.
Hiruzen gently laid the white flowers upon the polished wood and rested a weathered hand against the surface.
His eyes lingered there for several long moments before he finally began to speak in a voice that carried clearly through the rain.
“Many of you knew Shisui as one of the finest shinobi Konoha ever produced.
I knew him first as the grandson of Kagami Uchiha.” A faint smile softened his aged features as old memories rose to the surface.
“His grandfather and I fought side by side under the Second Hokage.
Kagami was the sort of man who earned trust without ever demanding it.
Tobirama sensei himself once placed our lives in Kagami’s hands even though many people in those days still carried deep prejudice toward the Uchiha.
That trust was never misplaced.
Kagami never failed the people who believed in him.” Hiruzen drew a slow breath and continued.
“When I first met young Shisui I remember thinking that he smiled in exactly the same way Kagami had smiled.
It was the same open and honest smile that made other people lower their guard.
The smile did not deceive anyone.
It simply reminded them that kindness could still exist in a world filled with conflict.” His gaze moved across the assembled clan before returning to the coffin.
“People often praised Shisui’s great talent and they were right to do so.
He possessed gifts that appear perhaps once in a generation.
Yet talent was never the quality that impressed me most about him.” The Hokage’s voice remained steady as he continued,”Whenever Shisui came to my office he never spoke about promotions or public recognition or personal glory.
Instead he asked difficult questions that most adults preferred to avoid.
He asked how we could prevent conflict before swords were ever drawn.
He asked how the Uchiha could earn genuine trust from people who still feared them.
Those were not the questions one expected from a shinobi who was barely old enough to shave.” Several Uchiha jonin standing behind the Hokage quietly lowered their heads.
They remembered those same conversations and the serious young face that had asked them.
Hiruzen kept speaking.
“Shisui inherited Kagami’s strength but more importantly he inherited Kagami’s heart.
Today the village has not merely lost an exceptional shinobi.
It has lost a man who genuinely believed that understanding between people could succeed where violence had always failed.
Such people are rarer than any bloodline limit and far more valuable.” Itachi knew that the old man was using this funeral to try to bridge the gap between the Uchiha clan and Konoha Hiruzen bowed deeply toward the coffin without caring that the rain soaked his robes and ran down his face.
“Farewell Shisui.
I failed to protect you when you needed protection most.
I can only hope that I will not fail to protect the fragile peace you worked so tirelessly to preserve.
And I hope that wherever Kagami is now he greets you with pride rather than with regret.” When the Hokage stepped aside Fugaku approached the coffin without haste.
He wore the formal uniform of the Konoha Military Police and his posture remained straight.
Every officer present instinctively stood a little taller when their commander stopped in front of the gathered mourners.
He began to speak, “Most people standing here today remember Shisui as a prodigy of the Uchiha clan.
Our enemies on the battlefield remember him as Shisui of the Body Flicker.
I remember the young officer who first arrived at Police Headquarters carrying twice as much enthusiasm as any five year old child.” A few of the older policemen exchanged faint smiles at the memory of those early days.
Fugaku continued.
“On his very first patrol he apologised to a pickpocketer after the arrest because he believed he had twisted the mans wrist too roughly during the capture.
The criminal was so confused by the apology that he confessed to three unrelated thefts before they even reached the station.” Even Itachi looked mildly surprised.
He had never heard that story and he had not known that his father could share a moment of gentle humour even on a day as dark as this one.
Quiet laughter spread among the assembled officers.
It was brief but genuine.
Fugaku allowed the soft sound to fade naturally before he spoke again.
“At the time I questioned whether such open kindness had any proper place inside the Police Force.
I believed that authority required distance and a certain coldness.
Shisui believed the opposite.
He believed that true authority required trust.” Fugakus gaze moved across the officers who stood in neat formation.
“Years passed and I watched ordinary civilians greet him by name during his patrols.
Children ran toward him rather than away from him.
Merchants voluntarily brought him information because they believed he would use it in a fair and honest way.
I eventually realised something I should have understood much earlier.
While Shisui was welcomed with smiles the rest of us in the Uchiha police force were often met with cold and careful looks.” He rested one gloved hand upon the coffin.
“Fear can maintain order for a short time.
Respect maintains order long after the uniforms have gone home and the streets have grown dark.
There are shinobi who complete every mission that is assigned to them.
There are officers who enforce every law that is written in the books.” “Shisui did both of those things.
Yet what truly distinguished him were the quiet actions that never appeared in any official report.
He escorted frightened children home without ever filing paperwork.
He visited grieving widows long after the investigation had been closed.” Fugaku paused and for the first time a trace of real fatigue entered his expression.
“Had he lived I intended to recommend him as the next captain of the Military Police and perhaps one day as a candidate for Hokage.
I would have made that recommendation not because he was the strongest among the young generation but because he reminded the rest of us what our strength was meant to protect.
That opportunity is now gone forever.” He bowed deeply toward the coffin.
“The Police Force has lost one of its finest officers.
I have lost someone I fully expected to surpass me in the years to come.” For several moments no one moved.
The only sound was the steady rain.
Then Itachi stepped forward.
At only twelve years old he appeared almost swallowed by the black formal robes he wore yet every eye in the cemetery followed his figure.
He stood before the coffin without speaking.
His own reflection was faintly visible upon the polished wood.
Countless memories of the real Itachi rose without invitation.
He remembered afternoons spent training beside the river.
He remembered quiet conversations beneath the trees.
He remembered laughter that now seemed impossible to imagine in a world that no longer contained Shisuis voice.
“When I first met Shisui I believed he talked far too much.
He smiled at strangers on the street.
He greeted nearly everyone we passed.
He somehow found reasons to laugh even after difficult and bloody missions.” Itachi lowered his eyes for a brief moment.
“I thought those habits were signs of immaturity.
I believed that becoming a better shinobi meant becoming quieter and colder and more distant from ordinary feelings.
Looking back now I understand that I had mistaken kindness for weakness.” These words came from Julius who had seen Shisui from Itachi’s memories and had formed his own viewpoint.
He raised his head and looked not at the crowd but at the rain that fell beyond the umbrellas.
“People called him a genius because he mastered techniques that others thougt impossible.
They were wrong about the true source of his greatness.
His greatest talent was the simple belief that people could become better tomorrow than they had been yesterday.” Itachi closed his eyes for a short moment and remembered the easy grin Shisui had worn when he once said that protecting peace was always harder than winning battles.
He opened his eyes again and continued.
“I admired his speed.
I admired the power of his Sharingan.
I admired every skill he displayed on the battlefield.
But those were never the qualities I most wished to imitate.
What I wanted was to become the sort of person who could walk through this harsh world without allowing it to change the core of who he was.
I do not know if I will ever succeed in that goal.” A faint tremor entered his voice and then disappeared just as quickly.
He rested one hand gently upon the coffin for the final time.
“You once told me that a true shinobi protects the things that matter most.
I could not protect you when it mattered.
That failure will remain with me for the rest of my life.
Even so I will protect the future you believed was possible.
If I can accomplish even that much then perhaps one day I will deserve to call you my friend without feeling shame.” Those were the words that Julian now Itachi Uchiha spoke with complete conviction.
They were also the promise he intended to keep.
The rain continued to fall without pause as Itachi stepped back into line beside his family.
He left behind a cemetery filled not with loud cries of mourning but with the realisation that one extraordinary life had ended far too soon.